After the bear knocked down the bird feeder, I took it apart and put it away until next fall. And now, every time I walk past the glass doors that provided me with a view of the feeder, I am acutely aware of what is missing. I loved watching the birds at the feeder and did so several times a day. As spring turns into summer, I will think less and less about the bird feeder. Other loves will humor me throughout my day until it is fall and the feeder goes up again.
Not true with other things that I miss. Not far from where the feeder was, there used to be a swingset and slide. Removing it a couple of years ago was a matter of practicality. Because I was replacing the roof, I had a dumpster in the yard. It made sense to fill it with anything I needed to get rid of, so there went the swingset. When I look in that direction, though, I see more than the ghost of a swingset. I see my children.
I used to have an inground pool and a hot tub. When I look to the places where they used to be, again, I see my family.
And so it goes. We spend years and years accumulating things until we become painfully aware that we no longer make use of them. Deciding to get rid of them is difficult, not because of their value as objects, but because of the memories we have attached to them. What we ultimately learn, however, is that looking at the places where they used to be can still evoke the memories of a time when they were important to us.
But it takes time. And it takes even more time when you are missing that which is other than an object. Like my beautiful Golden Retriever, Mack. He's been gone over three months now, but still, everywhere I look, I see him and his soulful eyes. The pain of losing him is still raw, but I believe that in time, I will be able to look at the places where he slept, where he ate, where he wandered off to, and I will see him and not be so sad.What is missing is what we loved. If we didn't, we wouldn't be missing them at all.
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